


Martha Hudson and the English Sun

by Deleaf



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: 1950s, 1950s Slang, Internalized Misogyny, Multi, POV Mrs. Hudson, Past Abuse, Past Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Past Relationship(s), Period Typical Attitudes, Period-Typical Sexism, Post-Season/Series 04, Pre-Canon, Sexism
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-07-30
Updated: 2020-08-21
Packaged: 2021-03-06 02:49:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,931
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25616152
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Deleaf/pseuds/Deleaf
Summary: Rosie and Mrs. Hudson have a conversation on landlady's past.This is not a finished work.  I have other WIPs and may be a slow updater.  Enter at your own discretion.
Relationships: Mr. Hudson/Mrs. Hudson (Sherlock Holmes), Mrs. Hudson & Rosamund Mary "Rosie" Watson, Mrs. Hudson/Frank Hudson





	1. When Martha Met Frank...

**2024**

Mrs. Hudson had set all the un-refrigerated ingredients onto her kitchen counter mindlessly and yet in perfect order. The cold ingredients were checked for amount and freshness, of course, but they would stay in the refrigerator until they were required. She had set the recipe book for Rosie’s birthday cake open beside it. The recipe book was old but not obsolete--a fact that comforted Mrs. Hudson to no end when her hip flared up (and a likely reason she started baking more in old age).

She was distracted by her thoughts by the sound of Rosie clamoring down the steps of 221B with a force of excitement only a child could muster. And indeed, Rosie was a child. Her tenth birthday was only a day away--simultaneously an eternity and a blink of an eye in the eyes of her granddaughter, Mrs. Hudson was sure.

Of course, it wasn’t all fun and games--Rosie had to get ready! 221B was to be decorated. Snacks had to be prepared. And Rosie had to pick a dress to wear.

And Mrs. Hudson couldn’t help but feel grateful to be a part of it.

But at the moment, young Rosie’s mind was obviously on something particular: the cake. She and Mrs. Hudson had an appointment to make a cake--namely the  _ Incredibles 4 _ knock off Rosie requested.

Rosie knocked on 221A with an excited tapping that brought a smile to Mrs. Hudson’s face. “Grandma?” Rosie called through the door.

The woman opened the door with a bright smile. “Hello Rosie dear. Are you ready to make your cake? I already made the fondant.” Mrs. Hudson let 221B’s youngest tenant into her flat.

Rosie flushed. “Are you sure it’s not too much?”

Mrs. Hudson patted her head. “Not at all. Now: clean the table and wash up while I get the measuring cups, will you?”

Rosie smiled brightly. “Sure,” she grabbed a cloth from the landlady’s cupboard and set to work.

Mrs. Hudson was scouring the drawer for the quarter-cup when Rosie spoke up again. “Mrs. Hudson?” The girl sounded nervous.

“Yes, dear?” Mrs. Hudson asked absently.  _ Ah! There it is! _ She pulled out the cup triumphantly

“How long have you had that recipe book--it looks as old as time!” She laughed slightly before the sound died down as she realised that was perhaps, in the words of Sherlock, ‘not good’.

Mrs. Hudson only chuckled warmly. “Not as old as me, dear. It was a present given to me by my husband, Frank Hudson, years and years before you were born.”

Rosie bit her lip. Mrs. Hudson knew her faces well enough that she could tell Rosie was weighing her curiosity (which her Pa had drilled into her) to her politeness (which her Dad had insisted on). “Why do you keep your last name? I know you didn’t like your husband very much.” Rosie had finished wiping the table and made her way to the sink. She glanced up at Mrs. Hudson to find the landlady’s conflicted face. “You don’t have to answer that!” the girl hastily added.

Mrs. Hudson sighed. “Oh no, it’s quite alright. It’s just been quite some time since I thought about it. You see, Rosie dear, the day I met Frank may have been the worst day of my life, but it was also the best.”

Rosie frowned at this contradictory answer. However, she was clearly too proud to admit her confusion. “How did you meet him anyway?”

“Oh,” Mrs. Hudson laughed. “He came by my work one day--apparently he heard about me around town, you see…”

  
  
  


**1956**

Martha Hudson, formerly Martha Sissons, was twenty years old when she first met Frank Hudson. She was working at a café at the time in the outer limits of London. The coffee was bitter and they always played too much pop music for her liking

She loved it.

The pay was just enough to keep her from going back to her father’s house, and with tips she could even afford a few extra items just for herself. It felt like such a gift to be able to buy special soaps and the occasional chocolate after spending so much of her adolescence caring for her sick mother and alcoholic father.

While the grief of her mother’s passing hung over her head, Martha couldn’t help but feel slightly glad: she was finally free.

And  _ god _ was it great.

The day she met Frank, the sun was shining with an utmost amount of enthusiasm. The pavement looked like a path to forgiveness and the people strolling on it were as happy as Londoners could get.

Martha sighed happily as she worked on a particularly stubborn stain. It seemed like all her customers were either messy eaters or absolutely voracious.

She smiled as she found the right amount of pressure to get rid of the stain. Today was a good day.

She rolled her shoulders back as she strode to the back with her bucket and washcloth. One day, her arthritis would get bad enough that even such a simple task would shoot pain down her back. But the day she met Frank was in the height of the 1950s. She was lush with the blush of youth. Her red hair was permed and curled by the hairdresser round the corner. Her lips were tinted red with a tube of lipstick she had treated herself with. Her skirt blossomed at her waist, making her feel like the women she saw on the new television sets.

Based on the looks of the men at the café, she wasn’t the only one impressed with her appearance. She got many offers for dates by nice boys, but knew they were all looking for a housewife to raise children with. And Martha wasn’t sure if she wanted to settle down.

However, that day she met a man who was not a nice boy at all. She was swiping her cloth over the counter as he came in. Immediately, her gaze was drawn towards her customer.

Frank Hudson was a lean man whose muscles were apparent beneath a green polo shirt. His blue eyes startled Martha as they met hers. When Frank saw her he walked over with the kind of swagger that Martha didn’t know people used in real life.

“Well hullo there,” the man smiled brightly as he hopped on a barstool.

Martha brushed her hands over her apron. “And how may I help you, sir?”

“Well a coffee would be nice, but I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t here for your company.” He had a crooked smile that showed a dimple on his left cheek. Martha couldn’t help but wonder if it would appear on the other side if he smiled properly.

“Oh? And I suppose you’d like my company in house and child as well?” Martha straightened her back. She was not immune to the pressures to settle down properly--certainly her mother tried to enforce them--but she wasn’t ready to think about that just yet.

The man quirked an eyebrow. “Oh, I wouldn’t dare cage such a pretty birdie as yourself.”

Martha blushed at that. “Then what sort of company will you be offering? If you intend to have your way with me, you should know my manager’s on a smoke break and I have a good screamin’ voice.” It was a lie; her manager was passed out in the back from too much alcohol.

The man laughed. “Why, that ain’t very decent of you!”

Martha shrugged. She tried to maintain a nonchalant expression while her heart was beating out of her chest. “You don’t seem the type to like decent.”

The man leaned closer to her and tapped his fingers against the counter. “And you care about what I like, do you?”

“Why, mister, of course! Here at Starn’s Café, customer service is our top priority!”

The man chuckled. “Ms. Sissons, with an attitude like that you might just be heading for a promotion.”

Martha couldn’t help but fiddle with her name tag self-consciously. “Doubtful,” she replied. “I don’t think the boss would like me taking over.”

The man actually looked saddened at her words. “Well, that just ain’t right. Everybody should have room for promotion in the workplace.”

“That’s very modern of you, Mister…?”

“Hudson,” the man grinned. “But you can call me Frank. And I think I might have a solution for you. See the blokes round ‘ere been talking ‘bout the dame with red hair and a quick enough tongue to make it in my business.”

Martha leaned away from Frank. “Maybe I like working here.”

“Maybe,” Frank flashed that crooked smile at her again, and Martha’s heart fluttered. “But I don’t think you’re very good at it.”

Martha glared at him. “And how could you possibly think that?”

Frank laughed. “Because you still haven’t brought me my coffee.”

Martha flushed and turned to grab a mug. Frank caught her arm before she could. “Forget it,” he smiled. “Just come to the corner of Station and Arthur at eight pm tomorrow, okay?”

Maybe a dimple-less Frank wouldn’t have swayed her so. Perhaps if he had one less button undone or bothered to shave that morning she would’ve said no.

But Martha did not live in those worlds. She said yes.

  
  
  


**2024**

“He asked you for an interview that was also a date?” Rosie frowned. “Isn’t that illegal?”

Mrs. Hudson chuckled. “It’s certainly not a good idea, I’ll tell you that!”

“So...why did you go?” Rosie had stopped measuring out the flour to ask her. It was probably for the best given the fact that Mrs. Hudson wasn’t sure if her granddaughter measured correctly.

Mrs. Hudson swept her hair behind her ear. “Well, he was an attractive young man”--Rosie made a face at that--”and I wanted to learn more about the world. What would I lose by saying no?”

Rosie considered this. “Didn’t going end up putting you in a gang?”

Mrs. Hudson merely smiled. “True. But it also got me to you, didn’t it?” She pinched a blushing Rosie’s cheek.

Rosie had just started to mix in the flour when she asked another question (not that Mrs. Hudson was surprised: Rosie was raised by some of the most curious minds she had ever known). “What was the job for?”

“Oh,” the landlady shrugged. She had a twinkle in her eye. “Mostly paperwork...”


	2. The Interview

**1956**

Martha made sure to wear her best dress to the interview. She had to come straight from work, so she made sure to keep the cloth clean during her shift. She wasn’t sure why--she didn’t actually care about the interview...right?

Martha smoothed her dress and leaned against a street pole. She wasn’t sure if she came to the same place given the lack of any visible signage for...whatever business Frank worked for. Repeatedly she found herself checking the road signs and the watch on her wrist. It was five minutes past eight.

She had to travel farther into central London than she’d ever gone before. The thought that someone went all the way to her little café just for her sent a tingle into her stomach.

Unfortunately, the trip had also meant a rather lengthy trip of the tube, during which her hair had made its way outside the scarf she had it nestled within. It sat crooked on her head and after a moment’s hesitation, she pulled it off and tucked it into her hand purse instead. The purse was a practical item in which she, after some dithering, also placed a kitchen knife inside.

She wasn’t particularly sure how to use the implement, but figured she could at least wave it around a bit if Frank was up to no good.

In fact...the longer she stood here, the less sure she was that this was at all a good idea. This was a bit of a side street and she had only seen a few cars. Her mother had always drilled it into her mind that girls were not to be out and about this late; it was just calling for trouble. Martha was never one to pay mind to her mother’s beliefs...but standing out here in this sketchy area she couldn’t shake the voice of the matriarch.

_ All those girls crying rape after wandering London’s streets so late! Oh, you must be safe, Martha. Promise me you’ll keep your sense about you.  _ Her mother’s voice echoed in her mind.

Martha shuffled uncomfortably and tugged at her gloves. She had been so foolish! What was she doing, out so late in the middle of London? Frank was probably watching out of one of the windows above her, laughing that he could make the simple girl feel special.

Martha cursed herself internally and decided she’d give Frank five more minutes before leaving. She figured she could do that at least. Martha had been so hopeful! She loved her little job at the café but couldn’t shake the little voice inside her that knew she’d have to settle down sooner rather than later. If it were up to her she would spend more time on her own, but she knew that a woman could hardly make her way in the world on her own and any dithering would lead her into spinsterhood.

She couldn’t help but think that Frank was...well...an  _ option _ . Martha hardly knew him, yes, but he was already one of the most exciting people she had ever met. And she couldn’t help but follow the spark inside her when he came to her café. If she had to settle down, it might as well be with someone who made her heart race. So she would wait five minutes. And maybe another five. Because Martha Sissons was twenty years old and time only moved forward.

She was considering leaving when she heard the sound of a car horn and some shouting. Headlights whooshed around the corner and onto her street. Martha stepped back in surprise as the car pulled up beside her and idled. It was a boxey thing, as most cars of the age were, with heavy waxing and a hefty metallic stench.

Martha’s heart hammered. She simply could not believe her eyes. She may have grown up in the city, but she was small-town manners through-and-through and the ruckus and power of the machine less than a meter away...well, it terrified her.

And absolutely  _ thrilled  _ her.

She had hardly a moment to prepare herself before Frank himself stepped out of the vehicle. He had a cigarette in his mouth and a smug expression on his face as he leaned against the idling car. He stared quietly at her, but quirked an eyebrow up with a curl of his lip so he still seemed friendly.

Martha caught her breath, but still sounded slightly odd to her ears. “Why, Mr. Hudson...that is quite the car you have.”

He grinned at her and took a drag from his cigarette. “Do you like it, Ms. Sissons?”

She considered the vehicle. It was like something out of a magazine or a film. “Well, it certainly is modern.”

He nodded and gave her a cheeky grin. “Yes, I thought this was the right car to take. Modern car for a modern girl.” He crushed the fag with his boot and offered her his arm.

She took it and slid into the car where she encountered two men in the front seats. The man at the wheel was smoking out of his window and eying her in the mirror. He was juxtaposed by the gentleman in the shotgun who stared openly at Martha over his shoulder.

She smiled nervously and waved, to which the man rolled his eyes.

It was at this point that Martha noticed a dark object sitting on the drivers lap. It took her a moment to recognize it as a gun, but when she did she gasped audibly. She had seen firearms before, but usually only relics from one of the wars. If her friends did have them, they were kept locked up and away from guests’ eyes.

This man, though…he balanced the weapon as casually as he did the fag in his mouth. It looked newer than the ones she’d seen before and carried an air around it of intense practicality. She had the sinking feeling the gun was for more than show, and got its fair use.

Mr. Hudson slid in the car next to her with a grin that faded as he caught her expression. Upon following her eyes, he gave a small sigh. “Hey, Franco, put the gun away, will ya? You’re making the lady nervous.” He gave Franco a whack on the arm for emphasis.

Martha could see Franco rolled his eyes in the mirror but he obediently put tucked the gun in the glove compartment.

The man beside him scoffed. “Hey, Petruchio, if the lady can’t handle the gun, maybe she’s not the right girl.”

Frank just stared coldly at the man. His mouth was a straight line. The warmth Martha had come to expect from him was completely gone and replaced with something that unsettled her far more than the gun had.

The man gulped and didn’t meet Frank’s eyes. “What I meant was...ah….she’s different than the other girls-- _ women _ that you’ve been with and we got to be extra polite, is all.” He squirmed slightly in his seat and clung to the handle of his door.

There was a pause, then in a moment Frank erupted in deep bellowing laughs. The person he was a moment ago was gone, transformed into the man Martha had met at the café. She was shocked to see Franco and even the other man (albeit shakily) join in.

“Why, it’s alright Peter,” Mr. Hudson smiled. “You were just kidding around, right? Got a funny sense of humour there, son.”

Peter nodded frantically. The deepest sense of relief Martha had ever seen blossomed in his eyes. “Yes! Yessir! I’ll have to look out for that!”

Frank punched him playfully and threw his arm around Martha’s seat. “Fan-tastic,” he purred. “Now, let’s get this baby on the road, shall we?”

  
  


After a dead silent car ride, they arrived at an impressive building in the heart of London, which Martha calmed at the sight of. She had grown nervous after what had happened earlier, but the sight of the building made the job seem more proper.

_ At least they’re not just going to have their way with me _ , she thought darkly and clutched her purse a little closer to her stomach.

Frank smiled at her when they arrived and lent her his arm again to help her out of the vehicle. She hesitated for only a moment before taking it. She hastened a smile on her face as Frank whispered in her ear.

“Nice place, isn’t it? Knew I’d need to make a good impression on someone as pretty as yourself,” he murmured and she could feel his body heat searing off her skin like sunlight off the pavement on a hot summer day.

She breathed cautiously and willed her body to calm down (she was on  _ fire _ ). “It looks wonderful, Mr. Hudson. I’d love to see the indoors.”

He smiled cockily and jerked his head to the building and it was like the café all over again. It was so easy to forget the gun and the nervousness and just fall back into Frank’s charming aura

_ I’m making a big deal out of nothing _ , Martha reasoned.  _ He seems so even-keeled now _ .

But he was more than even-keeled; he was positively  _ magnetic _ . Martha liked to believe she was a woman of sound judgement, but how could she truly resist a man like Frank?

She felt like a cloud beside him: as light as air and just as free. And yet, she was 100% woman. She felt power surge in her breast and could not help but roll back her shoulders in light of that wonderful feeling.

She held his arm as he guided her to the front doors with the ease of a man who spent his days in buildings such as this. And she couldn’t help but feel at ease beside him as well. It simply seemed so right to walk alongside the man.

Goodness, she was being hasty, wasn’t she?

Peter walked in front of them, while Franco followed behind. This furthered Martha’s impression that the men were some kind of bodyguards. She clutched Frank’s arm slightly tighter and ran her fingers along the seam of her purse, remembering the knife she kept there.

Frank observed the building cooly as they stepped into the foyer. His blue eyes looked extraordinarily bright in the artificial light. A smile played on the edge of his mouth as he caught the receptionist’s eye.

Martha found herself tugged surprisingly harshly towards the secretary, who had begun adjusting her blond bob and the sight of the man at Martha’s elbow.

_ Too late, bitch _ , she thought smugly.  _ He’s mine _ .

Martha fastened a polite smile on as they approached the desk. She needn't have bothered given how the woman ignored her and focused her attention solely on Frank.

“ _ Mr. Hudson _ ,” the secretary purred with a playful smile. Her eyelashes fluttered on roughed cheeks and she poised her hand lightly on the desk’s surface.

Frank chuckled good naturally and leaned onto the table to the woman. He crossed his legs casually behind him and Martha’s gut twisted at the sight.

“Mrs. Roberts.” Frank spoke like they were sharing an inside joke. Mrs. Roberts certainly laughed like that was true. “I know it’s late, but we will be needing access to the room. It won’t be an issue, will it?”

Mrs. Roberts giggled and clutched her chest delicately. “Well, of course not.” She handed Mr. Hudson a silver key with a wink. He took it with a flourish.

Martha was then led to the lift by a beaming Frank. They were still flanked by the bodyguards who had settled into a strange sort of calm--like they were less men and more machine. Even the previously expressive Peter was stony is this role.

Martha shuddered at the switch and allowed herself to be tugged into the lift where Frank casually stood. In spite of her conflicting emotions this entire trip, she couldn’t help the spark of glee at the mischief in Frank’s eyes being directed at her once more.

_ She really was falling quite fast, wasn’t she? _

The lift clicked shut with a quiet ‘ _ding!_ ’ and they rode in silence up and up the floors. Martha couldn’t help but hold her breath as they rode longer than she thought they would. Frank really was a powerful man, wasn’t he?

The lift opened on the fifth floor which was decorated with forest green paint and beige carpeting. There were occasional paintings of, seemingly, cubes and more cubes. The air itself was strangely calculated in its floral scent, and for once in her life Martha was almost grateful for the role of housewife society had afforded her.

As if sensing her unease, Frank gently patted her arm and urged her forward. “I just had the building decorated,” he murmured into her ear. “I hope you like it.”

Martha merely smiled meekly.

Thankfully, it wasn’t long before they arrived at a brown door at the end of the wall. Upon arriving, Peter looked round the door with an abundance of caution Martha was quite sure she had never seen before in her short life. Peter nodded at Mr. Hudson and they were off.

The room inside had large windows with a view of the city that made Martha’s eyes go wide. She barely managed to keep her jaw from slamming open.

“Do you like it?” Frank leaned against the large oak table in the centre of the room. “I  _ adore _ it. I had the sofa specially made in Italy and the table’s from France. And yet despite all that,” he gestured towards the windows. “This view can make you feel so small.”

Martha managed to raise her head as if in nonchalance. “Well. I suppose it depends who’s looking, Mr. Hudson.”

Frank laughed. It was a wonderfully joyous sound. “Indeed it does, Ms. Sissons. I suppose that leads me to my offer. I knew from when I met you that we needed to be close”--he drifted towards her--”but I have an empire to run and you need a job. I’ll have you do the typing and if you manage that, I’ll have you for dinner on Friday. What do you say?”

Martha’s heart pounded in her ears. The view was absolutely glorious. “I think you have a deal, Mr. Hudson.”


	3. The Rose and the Queen

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mrs. Hudson shares some views here that are more sexiest/racist than in previous chapters. Just FYI.

**1956**

Martha never had much of a courtship before Frank, so she wasn't sure what to expect. Still, she supposed that wouldn’t be much help when it came to  _ Frank _ .

The man was an enigma in the best possible way. She hardly knew him long yet he had secured a place in her thoughts and made a room in her heart. It all meant, of course, that it would be absolutely  _ horrid _ to lose him.

It was something she constantly feared. She hardly came from a well-to-do family, and that she did have she was somewhat estranged. Even her friends from high school had drifted off to befriend other married couples in her stead. What could she offer Frank but a loner with a ticking biological clock?

_ No, _ she told herself sternly.  _ I’m a hard worker with a thorough understanding of the household, good presentation, and great culinary skills. Not to mention, children love me. I’d make an excellent wife. _

Martha flopped down on her bed with a frown. She was exhausted by the day at work, yet her mind was illuminated in a dazzling colour she never knew before. She never looked down on those girls in high school that would go a little boy-crazy--Lord knows they’d have to find a husband soon enough--but she had never identified with them like she did now. Her mother used to say she spent too much time dreaming about impracticalities. She supposed her mother would be proud of her ambitions now.

They say distance makes the heart grow stronger, and it has hardly been four days but Martha is already missing Frank. He’s interesting, sure, but he is also just so  _ attractive _ . She’d be wiping some table at the diner and catch herself fantasising about his jawline. She’d be preparing someone’s drink and imaging his cerulean eyes sparkling with mirth. Mostly--and it did make her feel improper to admit this to herself--she thought about his broad shoulders and confident posture. It was those times she wondered what was underneath his well kept layers. Thoughts like that would have caused her mother outrage were she still alive, but Martha couldn’t help but feel oddly liberated by them.

Martha ran her hands along her body. She liked to think herself modest, but she had enough curves that she was proud of.  _ This is the body of a woman _ , she decided.

At times she couldn’t help but long for the, in comparison, genderless state of early childhood, but today her bosom filled with pride at her femininity.

Feminity is such a delicate thing. It is a rose one must prune every day with only the best of manners and feed with the good nourishment of soft smiles and delicate features. Martha knew how easy it was to become less woman. Less desirable. She knew some whose femininity would not stand their large noses or darkened skin or sharp voices. She had watched poor families and impractical ambition turn perfectly good women into spinisters. This were the people she feared becoming

A part of her knew she would lose her womanhood eventually. Like all women, she would be stripped of her femininity eventually as life discarded her as a wrinkled, menopausal, graceless lump. She knew this every time she thought back to her mother’s quick temper and soiled linens of the last months of her illness.

Yet still, when her body was looked at as a specimen of desire even as her mind was darting about like a politician caught between lies...well, it certainly wasn’t a bad thing. With Frank she felt like both a woman and powerful. She was the Queen watching by the King’s side as he safely directed the troops from afar. With Frank, ‘Grace’ became her middle name and ‘Lady’ her title.

Martha sighed slightly dreamily. She just couldn’t stop thinking about her meeting with Frank. He said she’d be doing a lot of clerical work, but eventually they might have her type minutes at their meetings. He told her she wouldn’t be handling a lot of sensitive information, but that was only because she’d be new and their clients liked privacy. After a few months...they’d see.

_ They’d see _ . Martha’s head rang with the thought and a grin blossomed on her face. The only way to become someone important in this world was to marry someone important, and with this step she and Frank would be an incredible couple. It was so so soon, she knew, but she could perfectly picture her doing the typing and getting to know the staff while Frank managed the company. They’d be a matched set--filling in each other’s weaknesses as man and women did since the beginning of time.

And she’d be Queen.

**Author's Note:**

> Tbh, this work is my argument on why Mrs. Hudson should have more works on her and her bad-assery. I hope I'm doing her justice.
> 
> I also want to note that I'm trying to keep as close as possible to the canon text while keeping it believable. Mrs. Hudson somehow doesn't know about Frank's activities and for some reason agrees to marry him. However, this being said, if you find any mistakes, please let me know!


End file.
